My Husband Fed Me Birth Control for Five Years

Tears blurred my vision.

I scrubbed at my face hard, wiped them away, and tossed the paper stars back into the bottle.

Then, I twisted some tissue into a wick, lit it, and fed the flame into the mouth of the bottle.

I watched as the stars gently curled and darkened, turning to ash gradually. In that moment, it felt as if five years of love had finally come to an end.

I threw the bottle into the trash.

And after that, I couldn’t hold on anymore.

I collapsed, sick and weak, burning up with fever.

In the haze of half-consciousness, I felt someone’s hand touch my forehead.

When I opened my eyes, I met a man’s gaze, worried, guilty, and familiar.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Adrian asked, his voice rough.

As he spoke, he placed a towel soaked in ice water gently onto my forehead.

I stared at him, numb. “Do you even care?”

His smile stiffened.

“Still not over it?” he asked.

Then, as if changing the subject could erase everything, he added, “I brought you a gift from this trip.”

“The medicine from before wasn’t good enough,” he continued smoothly. “So I bought you some new ones. As long as you take them on time, we’ll definitely have a baby soon…”

I pressed my hand down over the hand he’d reached out to grab the medicine, then slowly forced myself upright.

Without a word, I opened the video Layla had sent me and held it up.

“So this is your ‘business trip’?” I asked quietly.

“Adrian,” I added, my voice edged with irony, “you’ve really worked hard.”

Before I could even mention the miscarriage, Adrian’s face had already gone icy.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped. “You followed me?”

“Follow you?” I laughed without humor. “Do I even need to?”

“This is what you called ‘completely clean.’”

I stared straight at him, every syllable heavy. “Adrian, don’t you feel disgusted with yourself?”

He exploded instantly, rage surging like a fire he couldn’t contain.

“Yes,” he shouted, “I slept with Layla. So what? And then? What are you trying to say?”

“We only slept together a few times!” he insisted, his voice climbing. “Besides, they were accidents! Did I tell you I wanted a divorce? Did I tell you to get out of the house? No, right?”

“I’m a man, too. I have desires!” he roared. “Every day I come home, and all I see is your dead face. Who do you think I’m supposed to complain to about my grievances?”

“What man doesn’t find someone outside?” he went on, wild-eyed. “I didn’t even make Layla’s identity public. I’ve already done more than enough!”

I stared at him in shock, like I didn’t even recognize the person in front of me.

Adrian clutched his head and paced back and forth across the room. He lit cigarette after cigarette, smoke thickening in the air. Only after a long while did he seem to calm down. As if nothing had happened, he came over and wrapped his arms around me tightly.

“Brooke,” he murmured, his voice suddenly soft, “I was wrong before. I promise you, I’ll cut things off with Layla completely. Don’t be angry anymore, okay?”

“It’s almost your birthday,” he then coaxed. “I prepared a surprise for you. Let’s not fight, don’t make a scene anymore. Can we?”

Like he was handing me something priceless, he pressed that box of medicine into my hands.

“I asked about this medicine,” he said earnestly. “If you keep taking it, you’ll get pregnant soon. I promise you. I’ll be a good father. I’ll give you a complete family. Let what happened before stay in the past.”

I lowered my head. My gaze landed on those all-too-familiar pills.

The smile that tugged at my lips looked worse than crying.

I wanted to say the word divorce.

But Adrian’s phone suddenly rang.

He picked it up. After a brief call, he said the company had something urgent and left the house.

...

Once my fever went down, I took a cab to a law firm and collected a divorce agreement.

When I brought the papers to the company to find him, I was met with nothing but side-eyes from the employees.

“So that’s Mr. Fitzwilliam’s wife?” someone whispered. “She’s so sloppy. Her face is yellow like jaundice. Does she have an illness?”

“And she still had the nerve to cause a scene in the hospital with Miss Ward,” another sneered. “If you’re that useless, even if Mr. Fitzwilliam kept a dog by his side, you’d still have to worry the dog might steal a man’s heart!”

“Miss Ward is young and pretty. If I were Mr. Fitzwilliam, I’d choose Miss Ward, too. Who wants to look at some worn-out housewife?”

I couldn’t listen anymore.

I turned to leave, but Layla suddenly appeared, blocking my path.

“Brooke?” she said with a bright, polite smile. “You’re here? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Mr. Fitzwilliam has an appointment today,” she added smoothly. “He probably doesn’t have time to see you.”

“Do you want me to pass a message along?” Layla asked, her voice gentle but her eyes sharp. “Your messages… Mr. Fitzwilliam might not see them in time.”

The provocation in her eyes was unmistakable.

My nails dug hard into my palm, and I refused to back down.

“How I contact my husband,” I said coldly, “isn’t something an outsider gets to lecture me about.”

With that, I turned and strode out of the company.

Outside, the night sky was pitch-black. The cold air hit my face, and all at once, I regretted it.

If we couldn’t end things with dignity, then we’d end them in mutual ruin.

If it were going to be ugly, then it would remain ugly until the very end.

...

For the sake of his own reputation, Adrian threw my birthday banquet with grand fanfare. It was held at the city's most luxurious hotel, and the guest list was filled with notable figures from the business sector.

Over a hundred media outlets and reporters arrived promptly.

On stage, Adrian put an arm around my waist and graciously accepted everyone’s congratulations, his perfect smile radiating the joy of a devoted husband. After the long opening remarks, partners and collaborators began sending invitations one after another.

The “devoted husband” image never failed in the corporate world.

Everyone assumed that if Adrian doted on his wife so much, then surely he’d also be more trustworthy in deals.

What a pity.

Tonight was destined to disappoint them all.

When they saw that Adrian’s gift to me was worth tens of millions, a reporter asked with a grin, “Mrs. Fitzwilliam, may I ask if you prepared a return gift for Mr. Fitzwilliam as well? Would we have the honor of seeing it?”

I lowered my gaze and smiled, then clapped my hands lightly.

“Of course,” I said.

“Giving a lover to one’s own husband is probably unheard of from ancient times to now,” I added sweetly. “This gift… my dear husband is sure to like.”

The very next second, the giant screen behind me dropped down, and every last person in the room widened their eyes.